The Dib and the Dead
by Jingle For Goldfish
Summary: Dib's desperation to reveal Zim for the alien he is leads him to a paranormal experiment that could result in disaster.
1. Chapter 1

_Weeeelp, I started one of these them there thingies. Not exactly sure where I'm going with it, yet, but the plan is kind of an alternate version of the patched-together-after-the-show-was-canceled episode "Mopiness of Doom." The inspiration came from "Backseat Drivers from Beyond the Stars," and the concept was born before I saw "Mortos Der Soulstealer" or "Mopiness," so any similarities therein are purely coincidental._

_I write in the most random fandoms. Lolz._

* * *

The Dib and the Dead

In the middle of the graveyard, a broad, ornate circle was chalked on the concrete ground. Symbols and strange markings wove in and out of one another around the circle's perimeter and formed curling spokes that joined at the center, where a boy knelt over a hefty tome, reading aloud in a strange language. Scattered around him were various odds and ends: a contact lens, a lock of black hair, a zipper with a bit of green material still stuck to it. It had taken him weeks to collect the items without his victim noticing, but he had succeeded, and his hard work was about to pay off.

As the boy chanted, the wind around him began to pick up, plucking leaves from the swaying trees and whistling between the tombstones. The boy's long coat lifted off his shoulders and whipped around his ears. He paused to wipe the condensation from his glasses and continued reading.

The earth began to rumble, and the concrete around him sprouted cracks. His voice rose in stride with the growing din. The cracks glowed purple, then red, and blazing flames spat out erratically. The rumbling turned to moaning—the moaning of a hundred or more voices, deep and low underground. The wind became more frenzied, swirling around the chalk circle, a vortex of grass and earth and leaves. The moaning turned into wailing and then shrieking. It was a discordant background to the boy's unwavering chanting.

There was an ear-shattering _CRACK_, and the pavement buckled under the boy's knees. It bent and jerked like a rolling wave and then snapped like a whip, lifting the boy as easily as a rag doll and hurling him across the graveyard, where he landed in a bramble bush. He pulled himself out, bruised but otherwise unhurt, and observed as if for the first time the chaos around him. His chalk circle was shattered, and the book he'd been reading from was nowhere in sight.

The vortex was picking up speed and growing steadily. It was nearly fifty feet high as the boy looked up at it, and at its base was a spinning mass of debris—chunks of pavement, small headstones, tree branches—and there was the book! The boy crawled forward, wincing as his sore limbs protested. If he could only get to it…

There was another _CRACK_, and another. The ground was so mottled with cracks and craters, it resembled the parched surface of an ancient lakebed, long devoid of water. Tombstones stuck out like jagged teeth, and at the center, where the vortex spun, the ground was depressed, like a deep, black mouth drawing in whatever it could.

There was a roar of thunder, and black clouds rolled in. Rain fell in fierce, stabbing drops. The boy's glasses fogged up, but he gritted his teeth and continued to crawl toward the vortex. He had to finish the spell. Who knew what would happen if he left things like this?

There was a flash of lightning, and a jagged bolt of electricity shot down from the sky and pierced the center of the vortex, skewering the earth with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. The boy covered his ears. A second later, the ground exploded, and he was thrown backward again.

Amid a series of popping and cracking noises, a yawning crag opened down the center of the graveyard, blazing white and purple and spewing red flames high into the air. It was too bright to look at, and the air was growing hot. The boy dove behind a broad tombstone and buried his face in his arms.

The shrieking and moaning voices had turned to high-pitched cackles. The wind in the trees sounded like sirens, and the ground was still exploding in flames and flashes of light. It was like someone had set fire to a whole store of fireworks.

Then there was a loud _SNAP_.

And just like that, everything was still.

The boy's ears were ringing. Slowly, he uncovered his eyes. His vision was blurred—his glasses had fallen off. He found them underneath his leg. The frame was askew, and one of the lenses was cracked, but they still functioned. He adjusted them on his face and looked around.

The ground had sewn itself back together. The trees were unmoving. The broken tombstones were whole again. The rain had stopped, and the clouds in the sky had disappeared, replaced by a brilliant full moon. Somewhere, an owl hooted.

The boy's heart was beating a mile a minute. What had happened? He got carefully to his feet and turned to peer around his tombstone and survey the graveyard.

It was crawling with zombies.

The boy's jaw dropped. For a moment, he could only stare in mingled horror and fascination. Green-gray bodies, half-clothed, half-rotted, were strewn about the yard, gazing at one another with bugging eyes. They moved slowly, raising a hand to examine it, tilting a head to the sky. It was like watching a writhing mass of cockroaches.

The boy felt a rush of excitement. It had worked! Never mind that he hadn't completed the spell. He must have read all the important parts. He stepped out from behind the tomb.

"Minions!" he cried. Dozens of hollow heads turned to stare at him. "I am your master, Dib. I require your services! Prepare to serve your master and _follow me_!"

He expected a more enthusiastic response, but the zombies only looked at him blankly, like a pack of curious dogs. Then, a hulking form a few paces off narrowed its empty eye sockets.

_"Grraaurrwrrrghhh!"_ it said.

It didn't sound ready to serve its master. It sounded seriously ticked off.


	2. Chapter 2

The roar was echoed by another zombie, and soon, the whole graveyard was alive with the angry howling of a hundred undead monsters. They began to advance on him. Dib's eyes widened. "H-hey," he said. He held up his hands. "What are you doing? Stop! I command you to stop!"

_"Hrraauughrhlrghhh!"_ said a zombie. _"Hurrrgh braaaaainnssss! Big hrrrrgh hhhheeeead! Biggg brrraaaainssss!"_

Dib touched his head. "It's not that big!" he snapped.

The monsters moved slowly but steadily, and Dib backed up. The iron fence behind him was much too high to climb, and big head or no, he'd never fit between the bars. "Stop!" he cried again. "I am your master! Obey me!" The hoard paid him no heed.

Dib looked frantically around. There was a tree not far off. If he could get into its branches, maybe the monsters wouldn't be able to follow him. At least a tree branch would make a better weapon than nothing. He turned and made a dash for it.

A nearby zombie spat at him, and the ground behind him sizzled. Dib looked back and saw with horror that the spittle had burnt the grass to a crisp. With new panic rising in his chest, he ducked his head and pushed himself to a full-on sprint.

He was nearly to the tree, and there were no monsters in his way. He stretched out his arms, leapt to catch the lowest branch, and started to pull himself up.

A green-gray arm shot out from behind the trunk of the tree and grabbed Dib by the leg. Dib howled and struggled to free himself as the zombie emerged. It was a tall, lanky specimen, drooling acid from an unhinged jaw. Its head was tilted sideways. _"Glaurrgh,"_ it said.

"Let me go!" Dib shrieked. "Let go!" He kicked with his free leg, but the monster held fast. Its grip was like an iron clamp. It was starting to cut off Dib's circulation. He held on to the tree branch with all his strength and lashed out again at the zombie. His foot met the rotting head and sent it tumbling across the grass. Dib felt a momentary thrill of victory, but it was short-lived. The zombie's body did not seem perturbed by the loss of its head. It still held tight to Dib's leg, and its other hand came around to grasp him near the knee. It started to pull.

"Aaaah!" Dib could feel his fingers slipping. "Help! Someone help me!"

He kicked and struggled, but the zombie was relentless. The masses were approaching. Dib could see one of them gearing up to spit. He writhed and twisted, but he couldn't hold on much longer, and the zombie was about to tear his leg out of its socket. Dib was close to tears. "Let go! Please, _let me go_!"

There was a loud _bang_, the ground beneath them lit up, and the zombie flew backward, its detached hands still clinging to Dib's leg. At the same time, his fingers slipped, and he dropped from the tree. He hit the ground with a _thud_, and the wind left him in a rush. He gasped for breath.

There was a burnt spot on the ground where his attacker had been. The other creatures howled in rage and began to turn around, casting their gazes back and forth. There was another blast, and a zombie went careening into two others to fall into a charred, smoking pile not ten feet from where Dib lay. His eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet.

"Over here!"

A deep, human voice that Dib recognized. He looked wildly around for the source. There it was—a tall figure silhouetted by the moonlight, crouching at the entrance to the cemetery. His coat billowed around him, and his goggles reflected light from the streetlamps. He toted the biggest gun Dib had ever seen—the muzzle had to be a foot in diameter—and it was smoking.

Dib nearly choked with relief. "Dad!"

Professor Membrane reloaded the cannon, took aim, and blasted two more zombies out of Dib's way.

"Son, to me!" called the professor. "Hurry!"

Dib was bruised all over, he still had two dead hands clamped around his leg, and his lungs were already bursting from exertion. But the prospect of safety brought the adrenaline racing to his veins, and he found a second wind. He made a beeline for his father, ignoring the howling zombies around him.

A monster lunged for him, but its head was blasted off. Two more blocked his path, and they were incinerated. Dib dodged a tombstone, hopped a disembodied head, and skidded to a stop beside his father.

The professor reached out a massive hand to scoop his son behind him. "Stay back," he said, and Dib was happy to take shelter and enjoy the view.

And what a view it was. Professor Membrane had already eliminated half of the swarm, and now that Dib was out of the way, he could fire more quickly and with greater abandon. He took out five zombies with a single blast, reloaded, and took out another twenty with three consecutive shots. Dib could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen his father like this before. Admiration swelled within him. He had the coolest dad.

In a matter of minutes, the graveyard was a smoking heap of ash and rubble, and every last crawling menace had been eliminated. The zombie cannon was emitting a low beeping sound, and a red light flashed on what Dib assumed was the battery pack. He wondered faintly what the thing ran on.

The professor straightened up and rested the huge gun on his shoulder. The piece of machinery was bigger than Dib, yet his father handled it with a single arm.

Dib stepped back, awestruck. "Dad—that was _awesome_!" he said. "You totally annihilated those things! That was epic!" He closed one eye and pantomimed a bazooka. "_Bzhoo bzhoo bzhoo_. Wham, pa-_ksshhhh!_ Kaboooom! They didn't stand a chance!"

Professor Membrane turned his head slowly to look down at Dib over his shoulder. Dib wasn't expecting his expression. His brow was furrowed in a deep frown. Dib's grin faded.

"Are you all right?" asked the professor.

Dib checked himself. The hands clutching his leg had come loose and fallen away, though his calf was still sore where they had held him. He was bruised and scraped all over, but nothing felt seriously wrong. "I'm fine," he said. "Mostly."

Membrane turned to face him full-on. He had always towered over Dib, but right now, he seemed even more imposing than usual. Dib watched him nervously. He didn't like the look in his eyes.

"What happened?" asked Membrane.

Dib opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to speak. He only shrugged his shoulders and turned his eyes guiltily upward.

Membrane studied him for a moment. Then he bent down and retrieved something from the ground. It was the spell book, the cover charred almost beyond recognition. The professor held it up and raised an eyebrow. Dib hesitated. He halfway considered denying having anything to do with it, but somehow he doubted his father would buy it. He hung his head.

Membrane went rigid, though he didn't look exactly surprised. Dib guessed he'd only confirmed what his father had already suspected.

"Again with the dead!" said the professor. His booming voice was unusually sharp, and Dib shrank back. "How many times must we go through this? Did you forget what happened last time? Or were you trying for a repeat performance?"

"No," said Dib in a small voice. "No, I just…"

"I specifically forbade you from trying anything like that again, and you disobeyed me. What if I hadn't gotten here in time? You could have been killed! Or worse—_unkilled_."

"I know," said Dib. "I'm sorry."

Membrane pressed on his temple and gave a frustrated sigh. Dib stared at the ground. When his father spoke again, it was in a much lower voice, and almost strained, like he was actively reining himself in. "Go home," he said. "We'll talk when I get there."

Dib glanced at him. "What are you gonna do?"

"I have to clean this up." The professor waved at the graveyard, which now more resembled a newly-plowed rock garden than a cemetery. Gravestones were upturned, smoldering ash lay in heaps and drifted through the windless air, disembodied zombie limbs littered the ground. "I shouldn't be long."

"Okay."

Membrane reached behind the graveyard wall and retrieved a duffel bag that Dib hadn't even noticed until now. He unzipped it and pulled out a flame thrower. Still in the bag Dib could see were an extendable metal rake, a bag of grass seed, and even fertilizer. He had come prepared. The knowledge made Dib feel suddenly queasy. He turned to head home, head reeling.

As usual, his brilliant plan had gone horribly wrong, and to make things worse, his father had to clean up his mess for him. As Dib thought about it, he realized… the cannon, the supplies, the perfect _timing_ with which he'd arrived… it meant Membrane knew exactly what Dib was getting up to, even though it had been forbidden. And raising the dead _had_ been forbidden, quite expressly, a year ago when Dib tried it the first time. His dad had probably built that gun exactly for this purpose. Dib imagined he'd been storing it for months in an emergency cabinet labeled, "BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF SCREW-UP SON."

Dib kicked a stone. It skittered across the sidewalk, hopped a crack, and tumbled into the street. He sighed. He was a screw-up son. It was bad enough that his father thought him insane. Now Dib had to go and get him angry. That in itself was quite an achievement. The professor was patient by nature and usually too busy to get more than a little annoyed by anything his children did. But it didn't take a genius to see that this incident was testing the limits of his tolerance. Dib didn't know the last time his father had yelled at him like that.

Membrane's disapproval for the undead was lost on Dib. He had a hard time seeing how a reanimated corpse was any more evil or impure than the masses of cybernetic creatures the professor was always splicing together. But whether or not it made sense, after the incident a year previous, Membrane had let Dib know in no uncertain terms exactly how he felt about experimenting on the dead, and there was no question that the reanimation of corpses was not to be attempted ever again. And now Dib had to go and revive an entire graveyard.

He must be the worst son in existence.


End file.
